


We Can Meet In the Middle: Bodies & Souls Collide

by writingramblr



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Body Hair, Body Worship, Claiming, Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, Fix-It, Kinktober 2017, M/M, Marking, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Original Percival Graves is Bad at Feelings, Prompt Fic, Rimming, Self Confidence Issues, Teasing, bear graves, delayed gratification, friday the 13th is rimming naturally, graves has got that good guilt, kink prompt fill, so technically this applies to kinktober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 22:17:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12351651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: He'll never be weak, or defeated again.But for Credence, he'd consider it.No, he'salreadydone it.





	We Can Meet In the Middle: Bodies & Souls Collide

**Author's Note:**

> prompt for anon, for the kink drabble prompts.  
> DRABBLE?? the fuck is that bullshit?? lmao  
> also inspired by this.  
> https://twitter.com/Knoaa_beasts/status/918676146752856064
> 
>  
> 
> [i want to die]

“What made you decide to do this?”

Percival glances over to the other side of the couch, where the boy sits. The boy who destroyed the city, and himself, all in the name of love for someone who wasn’t even him. It still makes his stomach lurch, and his heartbeat skip, the mere thought that Credence felt so deeply, cared so much, he’d tear the world apart if it meant finding him, the real him, safe, and alive.

“I never wanted to be weak again.”

“You’re not.”

 _“ Now_ _,_ I know.”

“Mister Graves… please don’t do this. Don’t shut me out. Let me reach you.”

He closes his eyes, unable to bear seeing the pain on the boy’s lovely face, healed and filled out from months of proper eating, lots of rest, and training with his magic. While Percival has become… something much more and far less than what he was. He refused to back down, he wouldn’t languish in a hospital, he fled. He started training and eating and living like his wild uncle had been rumored to do. Living without magic. In a home on the very edge of the Graves’ land in northwest Albany. That was where the boy had found him. To this day, he doesn’t know why Credence came looking for him, when all he knew of a _Mister Graves_ was a lie.

But the cloud of smoke that bled in through the fireplace, coughed and spit, and reformed at his feet, that had been Credence. Together, they’d found their way back to a semblance of normal. Credence, declared dead by MACUSA, Percival, quietly treated the same, but with a steady stipend, for services rendered. They conveniently ignored the fact that they had caused his life to end, virtually.

If not for Credence, he suspected he would have long been dead.

There is a hand on his cheek, fingers gentle, petting over his beard, and he can’t look, not yet, not till his boy speaks.

“Mister Graves… you’re very handsome. You know this. It hasn’t changed because of this… or that.”

He gets a moment to consider, and then a warm weight lands softly in his lap, his eyes snap open and find Credence inches away, kissing him within another heartbeats time. This has happened before, several times, but each time, Percival brushes it away as an accident, a thing of circumstance. Two men cannot live in a house, and share such a heavy past without it ever looming over them, like a wave preparing to crest ashore. Nothing will hold back the inevitable forever.

Still, he never expects it to happen again. But it has.

Credence surges closer, just as sure and steady as the tide, and his arms wind around Percival’s neck, clinging to him, legs braced at his sides, widened significantly, considering the bulk of him now.  To say that Percival has become a mountain of a man is the most obvious thing. It manages to make Credence appear fragile once more, despite the very opposite being true. He’s never been stronger, taller by a handful of inches, and so very beautiful it makes Percival’s hands shake as they go to land on the boy’s slender waist.

He wants to be better, the best man, all for Credence, but part of that also means staying the fuck away from him, and he simply cannot do that. He has loved the boy too long, too deeply, and savored the memory of knowing him, feeling him, _being_ near him, there is no way to deny the truth of it down to his very marrow. To keep Percival from loving Credence would be to carve the sun from the sky, and expect no ill effects.

“Mister Graves… I want you, in my bed.”

He’s already shaking his head no, biting his tongue to keep from begging,

“We can’t do this. You don’t… you just think that I’m someone who I’m not. Look at me. I’m-”

Credence chokes on a sob, interrupting him before he can get the insult to himself out and Percival pulls back, scared to death of what he’s done. Has he hurt the boy more by denying his own needs one too many times? He finds Credence’s dark lashes wet with tears, and his lips red, bitten bloody, as he shakes his head.

“You’re so stupid… you know that? I want you so bad it hurts, and you keep trying to be so damn _noble_ .” Hearing Credence use a curse, even so mild, like one might pull out of his holy book, is enough to break down the walls that Percival has used to brick away his heart. He stands up, unthinking, and sways a little, but Credence is easily pulled against him, flush to his chest, legs wrapped around his waist, face buried in his neck, a soft repeated murmur of _‘yes, yes, yes,’_ while Percival sighs, and apologizes for his stubbornness.

He staggers to his bedroom, as it’s closer, and bigger, so if, _after_ , Credence needs space, he will, wants distance, he can leave, and Percival won’t even know, once he’s asleep. He sets the boy down on the soft coverlet, and goes to turn the lamps down, to close the curtains, but Credence stops him with a word.

“No. I want to see you. As you have seen me.”

Percival makes a fist, and focuses on the scar right below the knuckle of his thumb. He has. The years of scars on the boy’s back made something dark bloom inside him, ever since. The desire to protect, and shield, and tear asunder anyone who might dare threaten him, though of course, Percival is not needed. Credence has the power to do anything he wants, to take care of himself… is trivial.

Something blurs his vision, and he sees a shadow move, Credence gets up, approaches him, and puts both of his hands on Percival’s shoulders, before cupping his face in his palms, forcing him to meet the boy’s gaze. “I’m going to undress you, and you’re going to lay down.”

“Okay.”

Those long fingers are clever, and steady, unlike his own trembling hands, so Percival stands still as he dares, letting Credence remove his reading glasses, carefully pull off his sweater, reaching for his pants, he has a moment of panic. The worst isn’t that he’s hard, it’s that altogether, he’s quite repulsive. Credence has already taken a good long look at the swell of his gut, dragged a hand over the silver of his chest hair, and then back up to his rough beard. But there’s more, it’s terrible. Obscene, how he’s dreamt of these moments. Wanted Credence to hate him rather than stare at him with something dangerously close to love. He can’t bear it.

“Mister Graves,” He expects the rejection, holds his breath, and Credence sighs, “Lay on the bed.”

Oh. Credence remains standing, watching him silently, and he goes, shucking his lounge pants off, ready for the virtual firing squad. He refuses to touch himself, but he wants, oh he wants to. Because now, prone on his bed, he sees Credence reach for the buttons on his shirt. Percival can’t breathe, he doesn’t want to, to do anything less than devote his attention and focus to the boy before him, starting to undress is wasteful.

The pale skin gleams in the moonlight, a beautiful silver that could kill a werewolf with a look, not even a touch, and still the crimson of his mouth catches Percival’s eye. “You’re hurting yourself.”

“I’m only doing what I know you are… inside of your mind. Please stop it, and so will I.”

That revelation stops Percival cold, and he fists his hands in the sheets as Credence sheds his pants, then pauses a moment, looking just like a fallen angel, dark waves framing his face, dripping down his shoulders, not quite long enough to lick down to his brownish nipples.

“Credence…” His voice is a rasp, not quite a growl or a groan, but he’s rapidly unravelling, the longer he looks without touching. Credence is nothing if not merciful, and he climbs onto the bed to kiss him, hovering over him, lanky limbs framing his body like it’s nothing. “I love you, Mister Graves.” He says it with words first. Percival’s already shaking. Credence leaves his mouth, puts his lips to his cheek, up to his temple, and then down, the side of his neck, nipping once, then twice, harder. Percival’s eyes flutter closed, and he wonders if Credence dipped into his mind, saw his darkest thoughts, and decided to torture him with them.

His cock drips steadily onto his stomach, but Credence makes no point to look at it much less touch him with anything besides his mouth, so Percival endures, silent, and set afire from what he can have. Credence bites down on the junction of his collarbone and neck, licks over it promptly, apologetically, and then switches sides, his own hands firmly splayed onto the bed, framing Percival’s head. If he turns, he could lean over and kiss the boy’s wrist. But he suspects somehow, that would break the moment, shatter Credence’s plans. He remains still.

Percival swallows, feeling how Credence nuzzles his cheek on the downy hair of his chest, kissing and opening his mouth, letting his tongue wet a trail to his navel, before finally, blessedly, touching him, barely a grazing fingertip to a nipple, it peaks instantly. Percival heaves a sigh, and Credence must know, he must, his cock jumps, and blurts out a dribbling of more precum. The hand leaves him, to tickle down his side, petting his waist, and Credence hums into his belly, kisses it as gentle as could be.

Percival regrets having eaten dinner. If he’d only known this was going to happen, he’d have starved himself all day. But Credence doesn’t seem to care, he’s gone without enough food almost all his life. He would have been upset if Percival had done such a thing, out of mere vanity. He knows this.

Credence keeps going, and bites him again, suddenly, without warning, and not very hard, but sharp enough to make Percival cry out, and his hips thrust up against empty air. Credence looks up at him from where his mouth is latched onto Percival’s naked thigh. There’s a bruise forming, surely, but Percival wants very badly to reach down, palm over his cock, and also put his hand on the back of the boy’s head, hold him there. Beg him to do more, harder, rougher.

He’s not weak, he can handle it.

Credence pulls back, and Percival can see him now, eyes glassy with tears, and lips very very red. No longer from blood. Simply from use. “I’m going to make you come.” Percival isn’t sure, but he thinks he might have moaned instead of made an actual reply. Credence’s mouth quirks, and then he dips down, urging Percival’s legs apart, to his shame, he knows he can’t fight the boy, but he almost wants to.  

Another kiss to his inner thigh now, a nip, then his hands squeeze firmly over Percival’s ass, long fingertips delve into his cleft. Sparks are replacing his blood, flowing through his veins, everything is arousal, and heat. Credence breathes against his cock, and then ignores it in favor of nosing in close to his sack, giving it a wet kiss, and a long lick down.

The sheets will rip in his hands, he’s sure. Percival fixates his eyes on the ceiling, lest he look down and lose control at the sight of Credence between his legs, putting his mouth to his hole, pausing a moment. He considers looking.

Credence’s tongue flicks out, warm and wet against the rim, and Percival chokes on a breath while a hand leaves his ass, and then pets over his hip, the spot where he’d been last bit. Two fingertips press on it, rubbing steadily on the soreness, and Percival feels a wrecked sound leave his throat, while something clenches in his gut, and his cock spits out a rope of white onto his stomach.

He didn’t even realize he’d come, until Credence sighs, and then leans back in, lips firm against him, suckling and licking his way back up to Percival’s cock, until he’s mouthing over the length of it, still hard, intent on teasing him to death. Credence’s hand leaves his waist and drags through the spend cooling on his skin, bringing it to his lips. Percival watches, entranced, as Credence licks it off, and proceeds to swallow. “Mister Graves… do you see now? The depths of my feelings?”

“I don’t know.”

Credence looks on the verge of smiling, and he shifts up on the bed to hover atop Percival once more, except now he can feel how hard the boy is. How much he’s been _enjoying_ this. It seems impossible.

“I want you. Inside me. I know the spell. I’ve found some very… unusual books in your library.”

Percival can feel warmth in his cheeks, even though previously all his blood was due south. “Oh.”

Credence grinds down a moment, exhaling a shaky breath, in the meantime, Percival focuses on _not_ dying from such a glorious image and sensation. His hands loosen from the grip on the sheets, and he isn’t stopped by magic or anything, so he touches.

He runs a hand up Credence’s spine, feeling the dips and knobs, and lines of his scars, watching the boy shudder, eyes closing, lips parting. The other hand he slides between their bodies, curling his fingers around Credence’s cock. It’s a surprise, but a welcome one. The boy jerks over him, whining low in his throat, and Percival can feel wet slickness against his palm. “Inside me. Please.”

He isn’t saying _‘no,’_ but he _is_ thinking _‘not yet.’_

Percival continues to do what he’s allowed. He touches Credence, he watches the boy’s arms give out, as he collapses onto Percival and nuzzles his shoulder, kisses his skin weakly, panting for air.

The exact moment Credence comes, the lights all go out, and Percival feels the electricity under his hand, the shivering form atop him. Credence’s cock pulses in his grip and an inhuman noise leaves him, as Percival tastes a smile for the first time all night. “Alright, Credence. You still want me to have you?”

Credence sobs out the _yes_ , and then lets Percival urge him onto his back, rolling them over, so that he can stare down at the boy, drink in the sight of his flushed cheeks, liquid eyes, and rather messy hair. There’s only moonlight in the room, but he doesn’t care. Credence is otherworldly.

The charm for slick takes a breath, and Percival reaches down, his hand still wet with the boy’s semen, to dip two fingers inside him without effort. His gut lurches at the implication, and he glances up to find Credence awash in pleasure, jaw slack, and hips rolling slowly. His own cock aches, and after a moment, he adds a third finger, feeling every flutter of muscle around his knuckles, how Credence grinds down, silently begging for more. It’s enough to punch the air from his lungs, and Percival was never breathing right in the first place.

“Take me, take me _now_.”

Credence leaves no room for argument, so that when Percival withdraws his hand, fingers shiny with slick, to apply them to his cock, he feels legs bracing on his sides, then a bony ankle around his ass, urging him forward. Credence’s hands grip his shoulders so hard, his nails may make Percival bleed, but he doesn’t care. He thrusts home in one smooth roll of his hips, out of practice, yes,  forgotten? Never.

Credence feels like a hot brand on his entire body, nevermind how he is tight and relentless about milking Percival’s cock. The spots the boy bit him and kissed and licked his way to his first climax without ever really touching him stand out like fog lights in the darkness. Credence is his north star, guiding him to safety, wherever that may be. It’s most definitely at his side. In his arms.

Their lips meet for a brief kiss, and Percival’s arms give out, but Credence doesn’t protest for a moment from the weight of his bulk, he simply uses a touch of magic, letting his lungs continue to expand and fill, as Percival shudders on a gasp, and comes on the next push in. Credence bites his bottom lip, and grinds up, thrusting his cock onto the softness of Percival’s belly, spilling between them, up to his chest, clinging almost painfully.

Percival can’t pull out, even as his cock grows soft, and he feels the slip of their movements. Credence refuses to let go of him, but he somehow finds the strength to kick off and put them on their sides. Then he slides up, off of Percival, and kisses his temple, pulling him against his own narrow chest. Credence’s skin is sticky with sweat, come, and probably lubrication too.  Percival should cast a charm to clean them, but he wants a moment more of this, their first joining, and carnality. Credence pets a hand down the nape of his neck, fingers carding through his hair, then around to his beard. “Good?”

Percival swallows thickly, and then nods. He wants to kiss every part of the boy he can reach. As it happens, he’s right over Credence’s heart. He leans in, and whispers his love. Credence hugs him tighter, and then sighs. He doesn’t move away, even in sleep. Percival wakes in the morning, in his huge bed, to Credence tucked up against his back, legs tangled with his own, arms curved around his stomach, cheek to his shoulder.

He cries silently for a long moment, until Credence wakes and realizes he’s upset. “Is it something I did?”

Percival shakes his head, and looks down at himself. All over his body, there’s marks, bruises and love bites. Credence has given him reminders of their time, and he wishes he could make them last forever. “You’re perfect.” Credence kisses his neck, and cuddles closer, “Okay. Let’s sleep a little longer.”

He can do that, yes.

 

* * *

 

 

**end**

 


End file.
